The Scarecrow of Nightmares
by Andra Black
Summary: A not so ordinary teenage girl one day stumbles upon an old, supposedly cursed book and gets kicked out of the library for no apparent reason. She soon starts to have mysterious dreams that quickly turn into nightmares, and finds her sanity withering as her friends and family begin to abandon her. Rated for graphic gore and future mature themes.


**The Scarecrow**

A murky red sky, spotted with dirt grey puffs of smoke, floating about lazily above the dried cornfield below that had been left without nourishment for ages. The off distant caws from a murder of crows, sharp black beaks pecking at whatever scraps were left behind of a long dead carcass, surrounded by its own decay.

Polluted dust drifted off the dry earth as a weak gust came through, the fruitless stalks swaying in the hollow wind as a ghostly whistle followed. A shrill shriek echoed in the wasteland as a loud whip snapped through the air, and like a horde of balloons, the crowd of raven feathered scavengers took off in a startled flight.

A ramshackle barn stood next to the field, it's red paint having peeled off centuries ago, large wooden doors squeaking in the wind as they barely hung off their busted hinges. A headless porcelain doll dangled above the doors by a thin rope.

Something tall and dark moved within the fields, the only thing visible being a pair of piercing, radioactive green orbs that seemed to glow inside their black sockets. It's mouth stitched shut with crude black thread, as was the rest of its body, with dark unkept hair falling over its face.

Then it would vanish, leaving behind a feeling of empty, cold dread as more murders of crows flew away.

The Scarecrow of Nightmares.

And this dead farm was its domain.

...

The library's temperature seemed to have dropped to sub-zero levels, and with a shudder I snapped the ancient book shut to rub my arms down. Checking a nearby clock, it was almost closing time. Glancing at the tome, I absentmindedly wondered if it would fit in my bookbag as I walked up to the Check-Out desk.

The elderly woman stationed there looked up, her scrutinizing gaze almost making me feel trapped beneath her withering stare. Gods, why did everything about this place have to be so damned haunting? Setting the book down in front of her I uttered, "I'd like to check this one out."

Her dull brown eyes, surrounded by wrinkled crow's feet, skimmed over the title, and she instantly snapped out, tossing the book to me with her scrawny arms. "You can go on ahead and keep the cursed thing! Get out!"

Stammering with the book in my shaky grip I literally ran for my life when the woman went to grab her cane from the corner of the desk. Tackling the doors open I rushed out into the open pavement, peeking over my shoulder at the library, and the woman glared at me before slamming the doors shut.

Guess that meant I wasn't allowed there anymore.

Heaving a sigh I set off to my apartment, planning to get a good night's rest before college classes tomorrow. Starting the short trek home my mind wandered. I wonder why the old hag flipped out over something as silly as some book. It's not as if it were cursed or anything.

I scoffed at the idea. Cursed? I think not. I'm not in Egypt.

"Tch, crazy woman." I muttered grumpily. That library had practically been my sanctuary, with all the literature you could find from the eighteenth century and back.

And I just got kicked out for wanting to check out some piece of literature about a scarecrow that could've been older than my great grandma. What the hell man? At least I got a free book out of this shenanigan.

Finally arriving home I lazily tossed the tome on the bed once I entered my bedroom. Changing into light pajamas and scurrying off to the bathroom to brush my teeth I came back and plopped down on the mattress, switching on the lamp on the bedside table and grabbing the book.

As soon as my finger brushed the worn leather, something tingled inside me. I couldn't feel it physically, but I could just...feel it. Shaking off the weird feeling I sat down on my bed and opened the book to where I left off, flipping the pages and skimming the lines to resume reading.

...

The farm was once home to a man who singlehandedly cared for his only daughter. The two were never alone, for they had each other. They were their own special family with the farm animals.

He was tall, strong and handsome, and was a proud, young father that was only in his mid-thirties. Skin constantly darkened by the sun as he worked hard in the fields, and sleek, dark hair falling past his shoulder blades.

His daughter, Holly, was a lively young blonde that loved to carry her favorite porcelain doll wherever she went.

Their lives were perfect.

Until one day, the sheep that produced their milk gave birth to a healthy billygoat, the young girl had gone to the upper floor of the barn to retrieve a blanket for the newborn. There was a family of rats hiding beneath the blanket, and so in fright the girl screamed, dropping her doll, causing its head to bust off and the giving the farmer immense worry as he climbed up to check on her.

Unfortunately the man stumbled on the edge, and grabbed the closest thing he could reach. It was too late and he fell back, with a rope caught in his grip which was tangled with an open toolbox.

Luckily the fall wasn't enough to kill him, but before he could move, the sharp tools in the box came down on him. Nails, hammers, hoes, it had even dragged down a shovel and axe.

Regaining her wits the child had heard the collision and rushed down the ladder, scared and distraught. The poor girl was devastated as she saw her father, cut up, bleeding. And worst of all.

He wasn't breathing.

To no avail, the girl had attempted to save him by stitching up his wounds with crude black threads, giving him the appearance of a bloodied rag-doll. After realizing it was hopeless she ran away, lost within guilt and loss, never returning.

Without someone to care for it the field became overgrown, the animals either ran off or died, but the father;

His body remained lifeless, but never decaying, becoming soulless and forever roaming the cornfields.

...

I took a deep breath as goosebumps surfaced along my arms and checked the time. It was almost ten, and I had school in the morning. Sighing I dog-eared the page and set the book aside, lying down to close my eyes and enter a deep sleep.


End file.
